


Election Night

by wallaby24



Category: Political RPF, Political RPF - UK 20th-21st c.
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-12
Updated: 2017-06-12
Packaged: 2018-11-13 03:32:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11176125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wallaby24/pseuds/wallaby24
Summary: Theresa and Philip return to Downing Street from CCHQ after the general election.





	Election Night

_What the country needs more than ever is certainty. Having secured the largest number of votes and the greatest number of seats in the general election, it is clear that only the Conservative and Unionist party has the legitimacy and ability to provide that certainty by commanding a majority in the House of Commons._

These lines brought the tears to her eyes again, and she didn’t try to fight them this time. She was alone with Philip now, and so she let them slip silently down her cheeks as she continued to stare at the paper in her hands.

It was just after six in the morning, and they had recently arrived back at Downing Street from headquarters. “When we get home, you can lie down for a few hours,” he’d told her gently in the car as she’d rested her head against his shoulder. “Everything will seem easier with a bit of sleep.”

But Theresa wasn’t ready for that yet, and she doubted she could sleep anyway. She’d been given a copy of her suggested remarks at headquarters, and she’d wanted to look over this and consider the words before she went to bed, so that she would at least know she was prepared for the next day. So she’d stretched out on the couch, pen in hand, although the words were swimming far too much for her to make any edits.

Philip— _sweet Philip,_ she thought—had not appeared to consider going to bed himself when she had refused it, although of course he too had been up all night. No, without any request on her part, he’d immediately set about finding a way to soothe her as she worked: he’d quietly sat down at the other end of the couch, lifted her legs onto his lap, and begun to rub her feet. It felt wonderful physically—she didn’t think her feet had recovered yet from all the walking and standing of the campaign, and at the moment every inch of her ached after the long day she’d had on the heels of yesterday’s last-day-marathon. But emotionally, the comfort of a simple, unsolicited act of service had made her want to cry. When she’d whispered _thank you_ , he’d given her another of the encouraging smiles he’d offered from a distance at the count, and she had to look away.

How awful that had been. How simply _awful_. She’d wept in his arms in the car on the way to Maidenhead, trying desperately to get her tears under control. “What if I cry on the platform?” she’d asked, mortified at the thought.

“You’re not going to cry at the count,” he’d said firmly. “You’re strong, and that won’t happen.”

“But what if I do, and—”

“Then every voter in this country will feel like the arseholes they all are,” he’d told her, and she’d heard the anger in his voice.

“I suppose it doesn’t matter,” she’d said. “I can’t be any more humiliated that I already am.” And then he’d kissed her again and told her for the hundredth time how proud he was of her.

In the end, she hadn’t cried on the stage, but she’d come terribly near it, and she knew there had been footage up and down the country of the tears that had gathered in her eyes as she’d listened to the numbers be read out. The only thing that had let her hold it together had been all the glances she’d given Philip, and the warm smiles she’d received in return.

“Sweetheart, I think you need to go to bed,” she heard him say now.

“I need to finish with this speech,” she said, wiping at the wetness that seemed to be perpetually on her cheeks tonight.

“Tessa,” he said softly, and the use of his pet name for her brought a sob into her throat, “I don’t think you’re in any state to work on that speech tonight. Let’s put it away for now and look at it when you’ve had a bit of sleep.”

“I won’t sleep,” she whispered. “I don’t think I’ll ever sleep again.”

“You will,” he said, his voice gentle, firm, steady. “You’ve been up for twenty-four hours, and you were already tired, and you will be able to sleep. I’ll go to bed with you and hold you and rub your back until you’re asleep.”

But she shook her head, squeezing her eyes shut against another onslaught of tears. “No, I don’t want to sleep yet.” The evening had begun to feel like one long nightmare, and a small part of her felt that going to sleep and waking up again would remove her last shred of hope that she was dreaming.

Philip said nothing, as she knew he wouldn’t. He never pressed her when he sensed she wasn’t ready. She tried to focus on the soothing sensation of his thumb working over her tired arch, tried to think of nothing but the gentle comfort in his hands. But the tears rushed in anyway.

“I just don’t…I don’t know what _happened_ ,” she managed. “It wasn’t supposed to–to be like this.”

“No, it shouldn’t have been,” he agreed. “But elections are unpredictable things.”

“I–I’ve ruined _everything_.” She’d ruined her career, her life, the Conservative Party, Brexit, her country’s future…and for _what_? _Why_ had she called an election?

“Nothing has been ruined,” he said firmly, “and this is _not_ your fault. You’ve worked very hard, and you did everything you could.”

Yet that was the worst of it. It would have been easier to blame someone else, or to tell herself that she could have done better. But she knew in her heart that neither was true. Perhaps she could have had a better campaign strategist, but she had never believed that people voted according to campaigns. No, they voted for people, and she had been the person at the center. The campaign had been all about her, and she’d given it her all, believing that she was popular. That people _liked_ her.

And the truth was that they didn’t. It wasn’t that they were unimpressed by Tory campaigning; it was that they didn’t want _her_ , Theresa May.

“I _did_ ,” she told him, starting to sob. “I did my best, and it wasn’t…it wasn’t _good enough_. I never knew I was so _h–hated_.”

“Oh, my darling. That’s not true; that’s not true. Don’t say that.” But she shook her head, crying in earnest now. Wanting to be held, she withdrew her legs and scooted close to him so that he could take her in his arms. She let her head drop against his chest, nestling against him as she gave into another round of weeping.

“You’re not hated, darling,” he said as he caressed her shoulder. “I think there are a great deal of people in this country who love you and who are very much hoping you’ll stay on. Do you remember the little girl you met a couple weeks ago at that rally? The one with the Tory ribbon who was so excited to meet you?”

She nodded, but it only made her think of how very many little girls she had just disappointed. “I–I’ve let–let them down,” she sobbed.

“You’ve let _no one_ down. You’re going to keep fighting. Tomorrow you’re going to go out and show every little girl in the country not to give up when it’s hard.”

“It _is_ hard,” she murmured.

“I know,” he said softly. “I know. I know you’re hurting.”

He began to rock her, and she let herself go limp in his arms. She felt she’d spent half the night crying against his chest, but he had not once seemed to grow weary of it.

“Do you feel like you could sleep now?” he whispered eventually as her sobs slowed. “I think you’ll feel a bit better if you get some rest.”

She nodded and sat up, wiping her eyes. If she didn’t want to cry during her speech outside tomorrow, she did need to sleep. She let him help her up, lead her to their room, and help her undress, suddenly too exhausted to undo her own zipper. She swallowed another round of tears at the thought of the celebratory circumstances in which she’d intended to be undressed by Philip in the early hours of this morning. How different everything was supposed to have been.

He kissed her forehead as she settled into their bed, and he drew the covers over her, tucking her in like a child. “When did you last check your blood sugar?”

“Oh…it’s been several hours.” She moved to sit up, but he gently pushed her down.

“No, I’ll do it. Is your monitor in the bathroom?” She nodded, and he returned a moment later with it in hand. Her heart swelled as she lay in bed and watched her husband, who had been awake as long as she had, prepare a test strip, carefully draw blood from her fingertip, and wait for a reading. How she loved him for how closely he’d studied her medical condition.

“Am I low?” she asked. “I did eat some at headquarters.”

Philip shook his head and gave her another warm smile. “No, you’re fine.”

He set the equipment aside and then climbed into bed next to her, and she moved immediately into his arms, lying half across his chest and drawing comfort from his warmth. He kissed the top of her head again and began to rub up and down her spine, the heel of his hand finding and loosening the knots that always seemed to be in her back these days.

“I love you,” he said softly. “And I am very, very proud of you.”

The comment brought more tears to her eyes, for she knew, in her heart of hearts, that she’d let him down, too—and that hurt more than anything.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured. “I know you’re disappointed.”

“In the result, yes. But not in you. Never in you.”

She paused, searching for the right words. “You’ve been waiting for me to be prime minister since we were twenty. And then when I get it, I blow the biggest lead in the history of the party.”

“Tessa—”

“I wanted to make you proud with a landslide.” She heard the strain of her tears in her voice.

“Oh, my darling…Tessa, don’t ever think you’ve disappointed me. Don’t ever think I’m not proud.”

“But—”

“But nothing. I would have been proud of a landslide, yes. But I’m far prouder of how strong you’re being now, and of everything you’re going to work so hard to do in spite of this. I’m bursting with pride, darling. Don’t ever think otherwise.”

Her tears were flowing again, but not in sorrow this time.

“Will you come to the palace with me tomorrow?” she asked.

“Of course, darling. I’ll do anything you need me to.”

She knew that, she thought as she closed her eyes. She had always known that.


End file.
